


Finders Keepers

by JJ_X_Trem



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Time Travel, Branding, Dimension Travel, Loss of Identity, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers for Season 3, Stockholm Syndrome, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ_X_Trem/pseuds/JJ_X_Trem
Summary: When a boy shows up out of no where claiming Slade is his master, how is the mercenary supposed to react? He may have lost Tara, but this boy might make for a good replacement.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson
Comments: 39
Kudos: 119





	1. Something lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I know it's been a minute since I've posted anything... I've been going through some stuff and my stories got put on the back burner. I'm sorry about that.
> 
> I haven't given up on any of my other works! So, don't worry about that!
> 
> Without further adieu, please enjoy the story.

Slade Wilson was not an easy man to surprise. He prided himself in his ability to adapt to any situation thrown at him, no matter how strange or bizarre. In a world where alien invasions and children suddenly developing meta powers was the norm, it took a lot to catch him off guard. 

Though, the last thing he expected when he woke up that morning to the alarms going off was a kid decked head to toe in his colors taking down his men like it was child’s play. 

Slade watched his tablet screen with raptured eyes. 

The intruded landed a fluid kick to one of his men’s shoulder, and Slade would have bet good money that something in that shoulder had broken on impact. His man went down, disorientated long enough for the kid to kick him in the head and knock him out. 

The kid, male, if their body type was anything to go by, rolled out of the way of heavy gunfire as Slade’s men unloaded round after round of gun fire on him. Back pressed flush against the wall, he grabbed a flash grenade from his belt and pulled the pin with his mouth. 

Slade rubbed his chin, noting the flash grenade was an older model than what he was used to. Considering the fact that there were sleeker, more reliable ones on the market, it’d been quite the minute since he’d seen the outdated thing. 

Still, the kid nodded his head, obviously counting the seconds, before tossing it and blinding the men shooting at him. The way he slipped back around the corner and took down six grown men in less than sixty seconds had Slade’s breath catching in his chest momentarily. 

Sure, it was impressive, but Slade had seen it done faster, cleaner. 

No, it was because he knew which punch the kid was going to throw next, because it was exactly what he would have done. 

The kid was fighting with Slade’s style. One that had taken Slade years to come up with and neatly put together. There were some showy moves and flips that Slade would never have bothered with. It was too flowery and wouldn’t have worked with the bulk of his muscles, but the rest was very obviously something only a person trained by the shadows could have learned. 

Weirdly enough though, the kid hadn’t killed a single one of Slade’s men. Maybe broken a bone or two, perhaps given a concussion here or there, but the intruder seemed determined to only neutralize his opponents. 

Slade set down the tablet and stood up to get dressed. 

He wondered who would have the balls to break into his base. Dressed in his colors and using his moves to take down the men he had personally trained. 

As he clipped his utility belt around his waist, he decided he’d just have to greet his new guest and ask. 

He leisurely made his way through the halls of the base, following the sound of gunfire and fighting. He noted the fact that the intruder didn’t seem to be trying to make his was further into the building, but outwards. Slade pondered if he’d already gotten what he came for and what it could be. 

That was another question he should ask. 

He muted the loud communicator in his ear as he took a left and stepped over another one of his knocked-out guards. The complete and utter panic that one child could cause was both amusing and frustrating. There was going to be some serious changes if one break in was all it took to cause such pandemonium. 

Slade pulled his swords from his back as he followed the sounds of the scuffle. Something about the way the kid had flipped over his soldiers was familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he recognized it from. His gut told him it was anything but good, and he knew when to trust his gut, and right now? 

His gut told him this kid wasn’t to be taken lightly. 

Slade prepared for the worst as he typed in his access code for one of the locked down doors and swung it open. The sight he was met with wasn’t pretty. 

The kid had gotten a hold of a gun and was taking shots at people’s legs. It wouldn’t necessarily kill anyone, but with his good aim, he was definitely keeping everyone at a distance. As Slade took a step into the hallway, the kid spun and pointed the gun as his chest, finger poised over the trigger. 

“Try it,” Slade said, rather monotone. “You better hit right here,” Slade tapped the center of his forehead. “because if you miss, I’ll break both of your legs, and that’s just to start us off.” 

The kid froze, and Slade wish for the hundredth time that the kid wasn’t wearing a full face mask. It made it hard to tell what he was thinking, but Slade didn’t need facial expressions to know that the kid was on his last leg. 

He was covered in injures, new and old, if the dried blood and bandages were anything to go by. His knees shook, like he was barely holding himself up. Though, something in the was his arms trembled told Slade that it was more just adrenaline and exhaustion that had the boy quaking in his military grade boots. 

“Deathstroke?” The kid asked, voice raw with fear and confusion. He didn’t seem to notice the guns now trained on him from all around as Slade’s men picked themselves up, awaiting their orders to open fire on their target. “I don’t understand- Where am I? What’s going on?” 

He sounded wheezy, but it was the tremor in his young voice that startled Slade. 

Slade tried to relax his shoulders, even putting his swords up in an attempt to come off as less threatening. 

“Seeing as you haven’t killed any of my men, I’m willing to give you a chance to put down the gun and talk-” 

He never got to finish as the kid dropped to his knees and slid the gun to Slade’s feet. It was only because Slade quickly threw his hand up to halt his men that the boy hadn’t suddenly gained more holes than a slice of swiss cheese. 

“I’m sorry, Master. If I’d known they were your men I wouldn’t have-” He bowed his head, the gentle trembling throughout his limbs from before quickly morphing into something much more violent. 

He made a choked sound, his voice beginning to strain. “M’sorry, I didn’t know. I swear! Please,” He begged, “You have to believe me.” 

What kind of fresh hell was this? That was not the reaction Slade had been expecting. He didn’t even know where to begin. 

“Master?” Slade asked carefully. 

The kids head tilted back up, though just barely. Probably only enough to see Slade’s expression. 

He hesitated before asking, “S-sir?” He hunched his shoulders as he started to curl in on himself. For someone who had taken down countless trained Shadows a few seconds ago, he looked remarkably tiny and helpless. “I d-don't understand. What-” 

He collapsed forward on one hand, the other wrapping around his abdomen. 

The kid clumsily pulled off his mask as he gasped for air. Slade consider the situation for a moment before he bent down and put a hand on the kid’s back. He immediately curled into Slade’s chest as a whimper escaped his throat. Blood seeped from in between his lips, dripping down his chin as he struggled to breathe . 

Slade tried to not to tense as the kid began to cling- because what the fuck?- and attempted to pry the kid off him enough to assess what was wrong. 

Finally, he got a good look at and froze. 

Striking blue eyes looked up at him, wet with tears and washed with pain. “Slade,” He whispered shakily. 

It was only years of training that kept Slade from flinching at the use of his first name. 

He gently traced the bruises on the boy’s cheek, so stark and jarring against his pale and clammy skin. 

He looked so young, he couldn’t have been older than sixteen, if even that. The boy’s eyes fluttered closed, tilting into the touch. 

Slade frowned. He knew this face; as if he’d seen it a hundred times in passing, but had never cared to learn the name that came with it. He racked his brain, trying to figure out where he knew the boy from, because he would have bet his last remaining eye that he did. 

The boy knew him at least. That much was obvious, but that didn’t tell him how the kid knew him. 

“Hang on,” He murmured, gently scooping the boy up and cradling him to his chest. “Don’t go dying on me yet. You’ve still got a lot of explaining to do.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect so many comments and kudos! Thank you all so much, it's what gave me the motivation to get this chapter out so fast. 
> 
> Just a heads up, this all takes place just after season three ends.

Slade carefully mulled over the armor laid out  in front of him, the monitor on his desk playing the security footage from a few hours ago on loop. 

The under suit was made up of a woven fiber he had never seen before. It was similar to kevlar, but not quite as strong, it was also twice as light. The entirety of the suit seemed to function that way, weighing down the wearer as little as possible. Considering how the kid had flipped through the air, the design made sense. 

The swords left Slade puzzled. As he looked back up at the footage, the twin blades on the kid’s back were never once touched. Infact, he was more often on the defensive than the offensive. He blocked, possibly redirecting his opponent's attacks and using their weapon against them, before returning to fleeing. He’d taken down over thirty of Slade’s personally trained men, never once landing a permanently damaging blow. 

Slade checked the utility belt. One pouch held small, high grade explosives, yet he’d gone for the flash  grenade instead. 

Slade drew his eye back to the swords still in their sleeves. Carefully, he pulled one out. 

He’d seen a lot of swords, but this one was beautiful. Elegantly crafted and perfectly balanced. The handles were worn with use- So, the boy most likely __ knew how to use them. Slade had wondered if that was the reason they hadn’t been used, but it seem that wasn’t the case- but it had been well maintained. 

A quick once over of the other one provided the same results. 

In the right hands, they could run a man clean through like a knife in hot butter. In the boy’s hands? Slade wasn’t sure if they could hurt a fly. 

“You’re an odd one,” He muttered, putting the swords up and setting them aside. 

He picked the mask up, half orange and half black, just like his own. It was nothing fancy, but it did contain a voice modulator. After further inspection, he realized it was broken. 

He would guess a copycat, he’d seen and gotten ridden of a few over the years, but it just didn’t add up. 

The way the boy  addressed him-  _ Master- _ , the fear in his voice as he pleaded for Slade to understand.  Dropping to his knees and begging one second, clinging to Slade and crying the next. There was a level of familiarity there that didn’t add up. 

Not to mention those eyes, he knew them, but from  _ where _ . 

“ _ Sir _ _? _ ”

He tapped the  communicator in his ear. “Report.” He barked. “You better have something for me.”

His men knew they were in deep shit. No one should have been able to get into their base that easy, not to mention how long it had taken to secure one intruder. They’d be lucky if Slade let their wounds heal properly before he put them through the ringer. 

“ _ He’s stable, but he’s in bad shape _ .”

Slade grunted. “That had better not be all you’ve got for me.”

“ _ Of course not, Sir. If you would check your files, there’s a few things I’ve uploaded that I’m sure would interest you _ .”

He clicked off the security footage and opened the newest document added to his personal files. 

First, a section of security footage. No longer than fifteen seconds. The time stamp confirmed that it was taken from earlier that morning.

He hit play.

There was a door to a supply room, which was nothing more than a heavily decked broom closet. It swung open and the kid came stumbling out in all his glory. He leaned against a wall, as if just standing up was a struggle. He looked left, then right, before jumping at the sound of the alarms going off. He shoved off the wall, nearly  tripping , before breaking off into a full sprint. 

“ _ That’s the earliest footage we have of him being on the grounds, sir. _ ”

“You’re positive?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

He clicked the next one.

A picture of someone’s back, male if the muscles and skeletal structure was anything to go by. 

Slade paused. Raised, ugly white lines crisscrossed over the skin in the picture. Scars. Whippings, if he had to guess. 

He pushed past the worst of it and focused on the details. Fresh and old wounds and bruising alike. Smaller, older scars littered about. 

_ The kid _ , his brain supplied. “Is the rest of him like this?”

“Yes, Sir. Have you looked at the last picture?”

He hummed and clicked again. 

It was the boy's chest. The damage wasn’t as bad as his back, but there was definitely a gunshot wound on his left shoulder. 

There was a sharp twisting in his chest as his heart rate spiked. 

Branded over his heart was an  **_ S _ ** . 

“Inform me immediately when he wakes up.” 

He cut the com.

* * *

Four days passed. The boy underwent intensive medical treatment. From fevers to a punctured lung, he was a wreck. He couldn’t seem to stay awake longer than a few minutes, and he was never aware enough for Slade to get any real answers. 

At least the older man’s presence seemed to sooth him. 

Slade watched as he slept, his breathing steady and his heart rate calm. Every now and then, he would shift and grimace, but a gentle hand over his head always got him to relax. Curiously enough,  _ only _ Slade’s hand would do. Anyone else would cause him to panic. 

No matter how Slade tried to spin it, he couldn’t convince himself it was an act. The kid genuinely seemed to think he knew him. How or why, he had no clue. It had been quite a minute since a puzzle this interesting had fallen in front of him. He was eager to pick it apart. First, though, the boy would have to wake up.

Sighing, Slade went back to his book. 

Half an hour later, the boy began to shift again. Slade closed his book, ready to console the boy again, but blue eyes stared back at him questioning. 

“Nice of you to finally wake up,” Slade mused dryly. 

“How... How long was I out?” He rasped, confused. His eyes flicked around the room, deciding to stay laying down.

"Four days or so.” Slade squinted at him from behind his mask. “You got a name?”

The boy looked at Slade like he’d grown a second head.

“S-sir?”

“ A name, everyone has one. Tell me yours.”

“You gave me my name, Master,” He glanced away warily. “Why would you need me to...” He trailed off. 

“Humor me.” Slade tried, not quite ready to break  whatever fake reality the kid thought he was living in. 

Something in the boy’s jaw set. Pain splashed across his face for a split second before he forced himself to relax.

Something in Slade’s gut told him that was the wrong word for it. Not relaxing,  _ submitting _ . 

“Renegade. I am nothing else,” He whispered.

Slade raised an eyebrow. That was an... interesting way to phrase it. 

“Do you know where you are?”

He shook his head. 

“Do you know  _ how _ you got here?”

Because that was one of the things Slade wanted to know. There was no evidence of the boy-  _ Renegade _ __ making his way onto the island, only him trying to leave. 

“I-” He swallowed thickly. “I’m not sure. I was taking out my target when-” He paled, as if realizing something. “He threw something at me, some sort of tech. No larger than a softball. There was a flash of light and- and-” He clenched his hands at his sides, no longer able to keep eye contact. He whispered, “I was unable to take my target out, master.”

It was subtle, but Slade easily picked up on the trembling of Renegade’s limbs. 

“Is that all you remember?”

He eyes locked on the ceiling  resolutely . “Yes, sir.”

“Alright.” Slade stood out of his chair. 

Renegade immediately flinched. 

Slade paused, “Renegade?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” He whispered barely loud enough to be heard. The trembling grew worse.

“You’re forgiven.”

Blue eyes snapped towards Slade, wide with shock. 

“Master?” Terror, it was etched into every inch of the kid’s face. 

“I said you’re forgiven.”

Renegade squinted at him slowly, no less scared. There was a moment of  silence then, “... You’re not my  Deathstroke , are you?” 

It wasn’t really a question. The kid  obviously knew the answer.

“No, I’m not,” Slade responded simply, picking up his book to leave. 

“What... do you plan to do with me?” 

Slade ignored him, leaving the medical wing. 

“Ma- I mean,  _ sir _ . Please.”

He sighed,  turning to face the kid. 

Renegade was obviously scared, despite how hard he seemed to be trying to hide it. “What do you plan to do with me?” He whispered, a single tear running down his cheek. 

Slade resisted the urge to rub his face in frustration. What had calmed Terra down when he first took her in?

“Nothing yet. You went through two surgeries, you’re still too weak to do anything with. I’m not going to hurt you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The kid nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Hey, hey.” Slade walked over setting a hand on the kid’s head. “I just said I’m not  gonna hurt you. No more tears, you’ve got no reason to cry.”

“But I failed my mission and- and-” He  hiccupped sharply. “M’sorry, sir.”

The kid had the body of a finely tuned weapon, yet cried like a toddler. Go figure. 

“I don’t give a crap about your damn mission. Just stop weeping on me.”

“I’m trying, I just-  **_ hic _ ** \- I don’t even know  _ why _ I’m crying,” He mumbled to himself. “I haven’t since...” he trailed off. 

Slade tried not to sigh again, running his gloved fingers through Renegade’s hair. “You’re making me feel like an asshole here, kid.”

“Not a kid,”  Renegade mumbled , leaning into the touch. 

“Right,” Slade smirked slightly despite himself. At the age of fifty- four, Renegade was  definitely a kid  compared to him. “Get some rest, I’ll be back later to check on you.”

Renegade nodded, eyes sliding closed. 

Slade waited a moment for his breathing to start to even out before leaving, locking the doors behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. Comments and kudos feed my soul and give me the energy to write more. The smallest thing means the world to me!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has edited to fix a few spacing mistakes. I'm not sure what caused them, but the ones I could find have been fixed.
> 
> Any who! Enjoy the chapter!

Renegade stared at the pale white ceiling above him. Machines to his left and right kept track of his vitals, filling the room with the sounds of soft beeping. There were enough blankets wrapped around him to keep him plenty warm through a blizzard, but he was frozen down to the bone. 

Master was going to be furious. He had failed to kill his target. 

Heroes had shown up last minute, _he_ had shown up. Red hair and green eyes that Renegade would give the sun up for if he could only bask in their presence for just a moment. That voice; a soothing balm for his bruised and tattered heart. It didn't seem to matter how many times Master tried to beat or whip it out of him, it was a weakness he couldn't get rid of. 

Master had taken everything, bent and broken him into an unstoppable killing machine. There was nothing left of his former self except for that one foolish part, deep down, that he couldn’t do away with. 

When he dreamed, it was of laughter and a blinding smile. Master had said it was wrong to hold on to memories of the past, but he couldn't help it. Wally was the only thing he had left to cling to, the only one who had cared until the bitter end when Robin had first gone missing. 

It had infuriated Master, the speedster showing up at every turn. Determined to find Robin, vicious in his search for his missing best friend. No stone was left unturned and he had to be dragged away to rest constantly by his mentor or teammates. 

Renegade had never been allowed to get close,- _the punishment Master would have given for breaking such a rule_ _would have been unimaginable_ \- but he had watched from a far as Wally searched to the end of the earth for him. 

A whole year missing and he continued to look, even when everyone else had given up. It wasn't until Master had left a fake body, a dead clone that was a perfect copy of Robin down to the tiniest scar, did Wally finally stop. 

Maybe Renegade should have missed someone else more, Bruce or perhaps Alfred, but it was Wally he ached for when he was alone. His best friend that hadn't given up until there was no other choice. 

Renegade clenched his hands at his side. It was foolish and weak. Robin had died two years ago. There was no reason for him to cling so desperately to old bonds of friendships that had been buried with his clone's body. Yet, when he had been given his order to take out his newest target by Master, he had hesitated at the sight of Wally. 

He hadn’t seen the speedster in the flesh in over two years, not since the death of Robin. 

Wally had given up his old costume for a new one made up of blacks and reds to pay homage to the main two colors of his dead friend’s costume. It had made Renegade weak in the knees knowing that even if Robin was dead, he wasn’t forgotten. Not by Wally at least. 

“I don’t deserve you,” He mumbled under his breath. “I never did.” 

He rolled onto his side, mindful of the IV in his arm. 

There would always be a gaping hole in his chest when he thought about his teammates,- _ex_ _-_ _teammates he reminded himself_ _. He couldn't let himself_ _hold onto old bonds, they made him weak-_ but something inside him was screaming out. Every carefully crafted wall he'd made over the years had shattered like glass. Something about seeing Wally erased Renegade away until he almost felt like Dick again. 

- _Not Robin, never_ _Robin. Robin was dead and was meant to stay that way. He had hurt too many people to ever be allowed to wear that title again_ _.-_

Renegade wanted that. To be Dick. To _own_ himself again; to be whole. Master would have whipped him for even contemplating it, but it was so tempting. 

_Master isn't here_ , he reminded himself. 

Well, he was and he wasn't. 

There was Deathstroke, but he wasn't Master. 

The differences in their costumes should have been the first clue. 

The way Deathstroke had been there through every drug induced nightmare - _Master killing his ex-teammates._ ** _Renegade_** _killing his ex-teammates. Wally going limp and cold in his arms-_ had been a huge red flag, but Renegade had been willing to ignore it in favor of the first gentle touch he'd felt in months. 

The fragments of his broken walls were sharp, slicing him open and leaving him vulnerable and bleeding. Whispered reassurances and soothing fingers through his hair had made it easy to forget his betrayal and unspeakable sins. Nothing mattered other than Master. 

Food, sleep, the right to breathe. It was all given by Master's grace. 

The thought had once terrified him. Sometimes, it still did, but there was no point. His feelings on the matter wouldn't change his circumstances. He had more important things to worry about. 

Master didn't except anything less than the best. Being chained to a pole naked and whipped had ingrained that lesson into him. The **S** seared over his heart was so he could never forget. 

He was his Master's weapon. Nothing of Master's could be anything less than perfect. 

Then ~~_Not Master_~~ Master had shown up asking his name. They both knew he was nothing more than a puppet on a set of strings; ready to move at a moment’s notice at the slightest pull. Was it not enough that he wore the man’s mark on his chest like tagged cattle? He’d given up everything, groveled at the man’s feet more times than he could count. 

It hurt. With the very fresh memory of Wally at the forefront of his mind, he almost felt like a person again. He didn't want to be a weapon, he wanted to be more, but he knew his place. 

Still, Master needed him to admit it out loud. 

So, he did. 

It was acid on his tongue, but he swallowed it down. 

Then Master had asked if he knew where he was and how he got there. He didn’t. He tried to remember, to think past freckles and green eyes. 

He rambled as he tried to recall what had happened. 

Wally had distracted him. He’d failed to kill his target. The scientist had thrown some sort of device. A flash of light. He’d woken up in an unknown room. 

Admitting brought up bile in his throat, but he forced it down. Kept it in place with his foolish thoughts of personhood. 

He knew what was coming, what always came with failure. His back burned with the phantom pain of a whip biting into the skin of his back. It had been awhile since he had messed up this bad. 

Then Master had forgiven him. 

It was then that all of the pieces slid into place with a terrifying click. The man might have been Deathstroke, but he wasn’t his Master. 

Master would have never let him failing a job slide. That was money, time and resources wasted. 

The man admitted to not being his master and the world crumbled. 

How could something like this have happened? 

A thousand options and ideas ran rampant in his mind. Most dismissed easily, but a few made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

An imposter? A clone? A different timeline? Perhaps an alternate dimension? Who knew what that device had done. 

Not Master had promised not to hurt him, patched him up even, but he wasn’t a fool. The world had hurt him too much for him to ever trust it again. 

He had been scared. He was a weapon without someone to wield him, to give him orders. He had failed his mission. He should have been withering in pain for it. Why had this happened to him? What had he done to deserve this? 

Wally’s face had flashed in his mind and that had been all he needed for him to finally break down. It had been so long since he had last cried. Not since the death of Robin, when he had truly accepted his fate. 

There had been no real reason for tears, laying in the unfamiliar medical bay, but it had come rushing out. Emotions he thought he had killed with his clone. Not-Master had soothed him, almost worried as he ran gloved fingers through Renegade’s hair. 

Touch from Master was never kind. It should have scared and disturbed Renegade that any version of that man could be gentle, but he was feeling so much like Dick at the time that he would have cut his right arm off for even the smallest amount of affection. 

It had been simple to ignore the warning bells going off in his head and melt into soothing fingers. To drift off into a half asleep daze and pretend he was a person, even if only for a moment. 

He had his first dreamless sleep in days as the door to the Med bay clicked twice as it was shut and locked. 

Now, wide awake hours later, he felt more like himself. Like Renegade. 

A weapon had no use for emotions, so he didn’t feel. Anything he felt for his **_Ex_** best friend was gone. 

His relationship with his Master was something twisted and dark, but he could acknowledge the man was right about one thing. Attachments only got in the way. 

Wally had distracted him and look where it had gotten him. 

The door to the med bay opened. His eyes snapped up to look; body tensing, but not sitting up. 

“Renegade?” 

A man stood in the doorway, dress in a black suit and armor from head to toe. Not an inch of skin to be seen. The red lenses of the eye gear tied it all together. 

He looked like a creepy spider. 

Renegade told the man as such. He hadn’t meant to, maybe he was on more pain meds than he thought. 

The man paused, almost flinching. Had he been one of the people Renegade had attacked? So much for good first impressions. 

“I’m here to check your bandages,” He stated firmly. At least he didn’t sound upset, stiff maybe, but that was to be expected. 

“Oh, good.” He mumbled, before rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe he could convince the guy to take him off the pain meds. Master had never allowed him to use them, and he kind of felt like he was a cloud. 

Obviously, they’d given him the good stuff. Though it probably wasn’t for the pain, maybe they hoped it would keep him more docile. 

He tried not to go ridged as the man pulled back the several layers of blankets he was drowning in. 

It was strange to have someone taking care of his wounds. Master had never done it. The poorly healed scars on his back were a testament to that. Bruce had once upon a time. Though, it was usually delegated to Alfred. Aqualad had once or twice after a few bad missions. 

He closed his eyes. Stupid pain meds making his mind wander. He needed to stop thinking about them. 

The man was efficient in cleaning and rebandaging wounds. His touch was light, but not gentle. It was nice. Renegade wasn’t sure what he’d do if another person was gentle with him. 

While focusing on not letting his thoughts drift, he had failed to notice that the man had stopped until he spoke up. 

“How did you get this, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

Renegade gave the man a confused look. The bullet wounds? Stab wounds? Surgical incisions? 

There was a lot going on around his chest and stomach. The man was going to have to be more specific. 

Sensing Renegade’s confusion, the man gestured to the **S** branded over his heart. “That.” 

Air was no longer a thing as he froze. The urge to flee, _to run_ , was hard to resist. 

“Who gave it to you-” The man reached to touch it. 

“Don’t-” Renegade choked. 

The soft pads of the man's gloves touched his skin and something inside him snapped. 

There was a scream. The feeling of bone as it broke smoothly in Renegade’s grasp. More yells. It wasn’t often that he wanted to hurt someone, but it felt _right_ as his fist crashed into something and there was the satisfying sound of bones crunching. 

Someone tried to grab him, but his body wasn’t his own as he turned to attack them next. 

* * *

_“You disobeyed me again.”_

_“Master, I’m sorry,_ ** _please_ ** _!”_

_“All you had to do was obey.”_

_“I won’t do it again!”_

_“What is it going to take to make you remember your place?”_

* * *

Something splattered on his face. He ignored it in favor of tackling someone, hands wrapping tightly around their throat. 

* * *

  
  
_“Master, please!” Dick sobbed._

_“You’re lucky I don’t give you two for crying. You should thank me.”_

_“No, no, no, no-” He wanted Bruce. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His dad was supposed to keep him safe-_

_“It’s going to look worse if you keep moving.”_

* * *

They gasped something. He couldn’t hear it past the blood rushing in his ears. Fingers clawed at his hands, desperately searching for air. 

“Renegade-” 

* * *

  
  
_“Renegade will be your knew name. Do you understand me, boy?”_

_It hurt so much. He’d never felt this much pain._

_“You_ ** _will_** _answer me when I talk to you.”_

_His hair was pulled roughly, causing his to arch up in the restraints holding him in place._

_He wanted to die, please, someone let him die-_

* * *

“Let her go, kid. You don’t want to kill her.” 

He knew that voice, he wanted to listen, but something vicious was burning inside him. 

* * *

_The glowing red iron was still in_ _Deathstroke’s_ _hand._

_Would he use it again? Dick knew he wouldn’t be able to survive it if he did._

_It all hurt so much, he couldn’t possibly take anymore._

* * *

“Renegade. Let. Her. **Go**.” 

His fingers unclenched at the command instantly. 

“Master, I’m _sorry_ -” 

“It’s alright, your forgiven,” Not-Master soothed, pulling him close. 

“No, no, no-” 

“Shhh, just rest.” 

There were those fingers he craved. They ran soothingly through his hair, even as something pricked his neck and the world started to go blurry. 

“M’sorry,” Renegade mumbled, his limbs growing heavy and darkness swallowing his vision. 

“It’s alright, just sleep for me” 

Then there was blissful nothingness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, but it was important to me that it came out just right. This is an idea I've been working on for two years now. Sorry if chapter are slow to be uploaded.
> 
> On another note, it was everyone's wonderful comments that got me through writing this. The smallest review feels like the world to me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade takes cares of Renegade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay for not having a consistent update schedule!
> 
> Sorry it always takes so long to update.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Slade had known the kid was good, exceptional even, but this was something else. The footage he had of Renegade fighting couldn't compare to seeing it in person. 

Renegade was beautiful, powerful, vicious. 

It was the mercenary’s fighting style, that was plain as day, but there was something else underneath it. Something with cold, calculated precision that Slade couldn’t help but envy. Altogether, Renegade was a deadly monster. 

He watched as the kid fought barehanded against a dozen trained and armed Shadows. Renegade tore through Slade’s men with purpose, like he’d been born to do it. The kid's eyes were glazed over, stuck in some sort of trance. Whatever he was seeing wasn’t there. Slade had to wonder what it was that could set Renegade off like that. 

Blood splattered as Renegade got a hold of someone’s sword. Red arched through the air as he swung again, the weapon nothing more than an extension of his body. It was terrible; Slade’s men were falling left and right. Renegade didn’t keep a hold of the blade long, seeming to prefer his bare fists as he punched someone hard enough to knock them out cold. That man’s jaw was probably shattered. 

Next, he was tackling someone, hands wrapping deftly around a woman’s throat. She clawed desperately at the fingers gripping her neck, gasping for air. 

Slade realized he should probably do something about this. He was called in as backup after all. “Renegade,” He called out. 

The kid’s fingers twitched, body tensing. It was more of a reaction then Slade had been expecting. 

“Let her go, kid. You don’t want to kill her.” 

At least, the kid didn’t seem to want to. His face was mournful, almost horrified by his own actions. Yet there was something in his body language that told Slade that he couldn’t let go; he was waiting for something. 

Slade wondered what that could be. Nothing was stopping him. Just a bit more pressure and he could probably crush the woman’s throat. 

The woman made a gargled gasp and Slade resisted the urge to roll his eye. She was trained for this. Honestly, if they couldn't handle one non meta drugged out of his mind, they all deserved to have their asses kicked. 

“Renegade, you’ve made your point.” Slade wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew anger when he saw it. There might have been fear mixed in there, but Renegade seemed furious. “Let her go and we can move on from this.” 

It was useless, Renegade hadn’t reacted that time. Slade wasn’t sure he was even being heard anymore. He didn't want to touch the kid just yet, not when he still looked like a bomb ready to go off at any second. What would get through to him? 

An idea came to mind and Slade guessed it was worth a shot. If being nice and gentle didn't work, maybe something a little harsher would. 

“Renegade,” He barked with as much bite he could put into his voice. “Let. Her. Go.” 

It did the trick. Renegade let go violently, throwing himself off the woman and immediately breaking down in tears. 

Just like when Slade first met him, the kid did a complete one-eighty. From terrifying monster to a sobbing mess in less than a few seconds. 

It was unnerving and pointed to the kid having a few screws loose. There was no telling what the state of Renegade’s mind was after his forming training, because he'd clearly been trained. By someone who fought exactly like Deathstroke. That still bristled more than just a few of Slade's feathers. 

“I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry -” 

It was pitiful, really. Watching the teen break down into a tearful mess, even after nearly maiming a whole squad of Shadows, it pulled at something in Slade’s chest. Usually when that happened, he shot the damn thing. Kindness was a weakness he refused to give into. 

Everything in him screamed to walk away and let his men clean up this mess, but that wouldn't endear Renegade to him. With a deep breath, he knelt down and pulled Renegade into his lap, refusing to scrunch his nose up at the blood splattered on the kid's face. 

“It's alright, you're forgiven.” 

Renegade shook his head weakly, mumbling something under his breath that was impossible to catch, even with enhanced hearing. 

“Shhh, just rest,” Slade tried, wishing the kid would pass out already. Coddling had never been his thing, even when his sons had still been alive. He was a mercenary, he wasn’t built for this crap. He remembered that the kid had liked having his hair being played with and tried it, praying that is would help. 

It seemed to, the kid's body relaxed easily, but he was still wide awake. 

Looking around the room and ignoring his men trying to pry themselves off the floor, he spied a tranquilizer they'd failed to administer to Renegade. With one hand still carding through Renegade’s hair, he leaned over and grabbed it. 

There were enough drugs in the kid’s system to knock out a man twice his size. Hell, he shouldn’t be able to feel his damn legs at that point, so Slade wasn’t sure the tranquilizer would help, but he’d give anything to not have to cradle the crying boy in his lap anymore. 

Slade didn’t believe in a higher being, kind of hard to with all the shit he’d gotten away with in his life, but he thanked whatever nonexistent God was out there that the kid conked out after administering the drug. 

Was it the best idea to being giving the kid more? 

Probably not. 

Did Slade currently care? 

Absolutely not. Besides, the kid could clearly handle worse. 

Gathering the kid up bridal style in his arms, Slade stood. A few of his men were already trying to pry themselves up off the floor. Some of them he was genuinely surprised were still breathing, others, well he wasn’t as surprised that they weren’t. 

The door to the room opened and more Shadows poured into the room, ready to offer more back up. There was no point obviously, but it gave Slade something to take his anger out on. 

“If I hadn’t shown up sooner, there’s no telling what would have happened,” Slade growled, stopping them in their tracks. “You’re lucky I’m not in charge of your training anymore. I’d make you all wish the boy had gotten a hold of you instead. Lady Shiva will be hearing of my opinion on the matter.” 

If his arms weren’t full of a bloody teenager, maybe he would have kicked their asses. Instead, he walked out of the room and took Renegade to another section of the medical wing. People practically jumped out of his way as he walked. 

Good, it seemed that at least some of the Shadows still had survival instincts. 

He kicked open a door to an unused exam room and laid Renegade down on the medical table in the center. He made quick work of stripping the kid’s bloody clothes and removing his bandages. 

He wasn’t worried about the kid’s modesty. 

Even with the door now broken, no one would dare come bother him for at least a few more hours. Slade stood in view of the door anyway just in case. While not probably not needed, he’d rather not have to kill someone for accidently catching a glimpse. There had been enough Shadows killed today for their stupidity as it was. 

Nudity had never really bother him, and the kid wasn’t awake to care either. Plus, he was most certainly not into the boy’s young body. Slade didn’t have many morals if he was honest, but not touching kids was defiantly one of them. He wasn’t above torture, but he drew the line at anything sexual when it came to minors. 

He’d killed enough potential clients over the years to make that very clear. He was a mercenary, not a fucking child molester. People had quickly stopped asking for anything along those lines rather quickly after the first few mutilated bodies he’d left in his wake after such encounters. 

Renegade had ripped quite a few of his stitches, much to Slade’s displeasure. However, it gave him time to look over the various scarring covering the teen, and he was truly covered. 

It was hard not to stare at the S branded into the kid’s chest, but he moved on in favor of studying everything else. He’d already seen it on file, but it was different in person, more vivid. 

Some scars were years old. Bullets that had skimmed the outside of his upper arms. Knife wounds and gashes that had cleanly healed. What looked like the makings of a J carved into the kid’s lower left hip. It was sloppy and faded with age, making it hard to see, yet Slade’s careful eye had no trouble spotting it. 

He hadn’t noticed it when looking over Renegade’s initial medical reports, having not shown up well on camera, but it made him wonder if the person who put the J there was the same one who had branded him. 

If so, it was one of the only clues he had to the kid’s past. 

His birth date. His age. His former Master. Where he had come from. 

All things Slade was itching to get his hands on, but couldn’t. Honestly, he could probably just pry the information out of the kid, but it wouldn’t get the kid to trust him. Fear was a fantastic motivator, but it would never bring about true devotion. 

Clearly the kid was terrified of him, anyone could see that, but he wanted the kid to want to obey him, not because the kid felt like he had to. 

All Slade would have to do was be patient. The kid already craved his approval in some misplaced attempt to fill in the void of his absent Master, whoever the hell the that was. 

He theorized that the kid was probably from another Earth or timeline. It was the explanation that made the most sense. There was no way the kid hadn’t been trained by Deathstroke, yet Slade had never seen the kid until a few days ago. All that meant that was that Renegade had been trained under a different Deathstroke. 

In a world of magic and superpowers, Slade had seen weirder. 

He wondered if the other Deathstroke would try to come reclaim his apprentice. Slade would if he was them; there was no way he would let such a valuable asset slip between his fingers. Hopefully, that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. He wasn’t giving the kid up without a fight, not when he such a perfect replacement for Tara. 

He wouldn’t be able to stick Renegade undercover in the hero community. They would be too on guard after Tara’s betrayal, but that was fine. The kid was so much more than Tara had ever been, even without powers. Slade had never considered the idea of a successor until now, but with Renegade it was a real possibility. 

If only the kid would stop getting hurt. With a frustrated sigh, Slade got to wiping the kid down and patching him up. He paused when he got to the kid’s back. It was no wonder the kid was terrified of him if his former master had done that to him. 

The whipping scars were horrible, covering the entirety of his back. Criss-crossing marks in a terrible pattern of past pain. They were raised and pink, showing signs of never getting proper medical care. 

Despite knowing that they didn’t hurt anymore and the kid wouldn’t feel it anyway if they did because he was asleep, Slade wiped the blood off carefully. 

Something possessive and dark curled in his chest at the sight of them. Maybe he would have to go hunt down Renegade’s old Master himself. The thought of someone marking what was his- 

“Deathstroke.” 

He had to resist the urge to jerk around and growl at the tone of the voice. Annoyed and impatient. Not to mention sneaking up on him. That was never a good idea, but he reigned his brewing anger in. 

“Lady Shiva,” He responded coldly. Usually, he did his best to stay in her good graces despite being in charge of her. She was not a woman you crossed lightly. Today, though, he wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries and fake smiles. 

He might have been glad to see another feat of Renegade’s strength, but between the incompetency of his troops and seeing the kid get needlessly hurt again he wasn’t exactly pleased. 

Lady Shiva was the Sensei of the Shadows, meaning it was her training that resulted in today’s failure. 

A dozen Shadows should have been more than enough to take down a drugged Renegade. Not to mention the way the kid had torn through them when he had first shown up. It showed holes in their defenses that Slade was going to have to fix. 

Lady Shiva paused before saying a bit more delicately, “I apologize if I’m interrupting, but I’ve been informed you’ve taken on a... new project.” 

Lady Shiva had been gone for the last month on a mission for the light. Clearly, she had just returned. It was understandable that she wasn’t in the know. There had been no point in sending her a message about it. This was probably when Slade was supposed to explain, but he wasn’t feeling up for civil conversation. 

He didn’t respond for a moment, taking to finishing up the patch work he had already started on Renegade’s wounds. He continued to angle his body to preserve Renegade’s modesty. 

“Is this it?” She inquired.   


Slade glanced over his shoulder at her. She was frowning, clearly holding back words she wanted to say. 

“Yes, I brief you about him later.” 

“Did he-” 

“Yes, he was the one that took down your students,” Slade interrupted, patience growing thin. 

She stiffened, eyes squinting. “If there’s something I’ve done to displease you...,” her voice implying a threat despite her placating words. 

Slade focused on the careful stitches he was doing on Renegade’s side. When he was done, he’d have the base’s doctor check the kid over. For now, though, he didn’t want Renegade suddenly waking up and attacking someone again. He’d wait a little longer to make sure the kid stayed under properly. 

“He’s my personal student now. In the future, I will ensure this doesn’t happen again. You would do well to make sure your students can handle one teenage, non-meta, drugged out of his mind.” 

Slade knew that stepping on her toes was never a good idea, yet he meant what he meant. Besides, if the Shadows couldn’t handle Renegade, no matter how well trained he was, how were they supposed to take down The Outsiders or The Justice League’s covert-ops team? 

“Now, if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother, could we discuss this later tonight?” Phrased like a question, tone giving no room for argument. 

“Of course, Deathstroke.” Lady Shiva responded smoothly, an air of disinterest entering her voice. “When you’re less distracted, I'll be sure to catch up with you.” 

She was definitely pissed then, Slade decided. 

Good, now they both knew how the other was feeling. 

“Could you send Doc my way once he’s done with everyone else?” 

“Of course,” Shiva agreed before slipping out of the doorway silently. 

Doc was a stout little Russian man who was no nonsense and all business. Which was great, because he didn’t ask annoying questions like ‘where did you get that bullet wound?’ and ‘what do you mean that isn’t your blood?’ 

Slade didn’t know his name, only that he went by Doctor and would probably stab you with a scalpel if you got on his nerves. The short man made Slade miss Winter Green sometimes, despite the fact that they were nothing alike. Maybe it was their beyond done with world attitude that reminded Slade of his oldest friend. 

Once done fixing the kid back up, Slade grabbed a rag and a basin of warm and took to finishing up wiping away the worst of the blood off of the kid’s body. The kid needed a proper shower, not a sponge bath, but it was best Slade could do for the moment. 

There was the quietest groan, and Slade’s eye snapped up to look at Renegade’s face. It was slightly scrunched up, pain set in the lines of his young face. 

“How the hell do you have the energy to have nightmares,” Slade groused with a sigh. Setting down his rag, he ran his fingers through Renegade’s sweat slick hair. It seemed to help as Renegade relaxed and his breathing grew more even. 

“You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re not murdering people,” Slade pointed out to the unconscious teen. 

He didn’t respond obviously, but Slade had to wonder what his reaction would be if he could. 

Would he scrunch his nose up and huff, or would he laugh and brush it off? What kind of personality was beneath all that fear and conditioning? The kid couldn’t have been eighteen yet, but would he still act like a child? Had that part of his been ripped out for good? 

Slade was simply wondering from the stand point of Renegade’s future teacher. It would be useful to know what he was working with, not because Slade couldn’t help but look at Renegade and see Grant’s and Joey’s faces when the he cried. 

Renegade didn’t bring up memories of his dead sons, and that was that. Besides, it would only do Renegade more harm than good if he saw the kid in a parental light. They were better off with a teacher and student relationship, and that was that. 

“You better heal up soon,” Slade mumbled. “We’ve got work to do.” 

Yes, Renegade would make a great replacement for Tara. Nothing more and nothing less. Slade would make sure of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love me a Slade with a secretly squishy side. I hope you enjoyed, let me know what you thought of it. Feel free to throw some ideas or opinions out there.
> 
> Keep in mind that kudos and reviews are what keep me going and power me up to write more! The smallest thing always makes my day!


End file.
